


Crash Landing

by electricsunrise



Series: Star Trek Drabbles [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Dyspraxic Lore, Emotional Dysregulation, Emotional Instability, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Near Death Experience, Post-Episode: s4e3 Brothers, Technobabble, Vignette, accidental murder, after dr soong accidentally drew him over with the homing chip, chase scene, exploration of guilt, hints of motor coordination issues, lore's on the lam from the pakled's, the pakleds weren't happy dfghjk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27756022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricsunrise/pseuds/electricsunrise
Summary: Did he kill him? Did he? Did he? Did he? Did he-Lore didn’t mean to shove him so hard. He just wanted to be fixed. The old man could have fixed him. He wanted the chip. He got the chip. His motor coordination malfunctioned. The chip didn’t fix him, didn’t defrag his scattered programming. It was horrible. It was wonderful. He hoped he didn’t kill him. He hoped he did.
Relationships: Data & Lore (Star Trek), Lore & Noonian Soong
Series: Star Trek Drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030335
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Crash Landing

**Author's Note:**

> Same as Wall Cats-- this isn't too polished (and tbh I could've done more to flesh out Lore in this), but that said I hope it's readable. I may or may not do a miniseries on Lore's misadventures after this.

Lore hurtled through space at warp speed, Pakleds hot on his tail. They were none-too-happy with him after he’d taken over their pathetic ship. Not that it was any fault of his! That blame laid squarely on the shoulders of the good Dr. Noonian Soong and the ‘ingenious’ homing device he’d erroneously activated.

The damned thing had completely overwritten his neural net, wiped his short-term memory drives, and forced him to drag himself to the dismal rock his creator hid on. In the process, Lore hacked into the Pakled’s controls, locked half the crew in the lower decks, turned off life supports on the bridge, and spaced the pilot.

For several months, he’d worked the Pakleds after they’d stumbled upon him floating in the dregs of space. Lore planned on piggybacking off of the organics until he could find a better ship, but that was all in vain now-

**“Shields at 17%. Hull breach is imminent.”**

“Yes, let’s state the obvious! It’s not as if I couldn’t figure that out myself!” Lore snarled at the computer, his hands flying over the ship controls as a phaser blast slammed into the shuttle.

Even with an android’s reflexes at the helm, the shuttle was shoddily built, making it _hopelessly_ outmatched against the Pakled’s ship. Soon his stolen craft would be destroyed, and knowing his luck he’d float for _another_ two years in space. All thanks to Often Wrong Soong. _Often Wrong, who didn’t even know he’d been reassembled. Often Wrong, who had neglected to mention the homing device drilled into his skull. Often Wrong, who’d crafted that- that emotion chip for Data, the **beloved** son, not the defective firstbuilt one. Often Wrong, who was dying-_  
  
Did he kill him? Did he? Did he? Did he? Did he- _Lore didn’t mean to shove him so hard. He just wanted to be fixed. The old man could have fixed him. He wanted the chip. He got the chip. His motor coordination malfunctioned. The chip didn’t fix him, didn’t defrag his scattered programming. It was horrible. It was wonderful. He hoped he didn’t kill him. He hoped he did._  
  
 **“Shields are now depleted.”**  
  
Lore’s snarl twisted into a warped grin, emotion chip amplifying his racing thoughts past warp speed, past the feedback loop that ran ragged in his neural net. At the next shot, the Pakleds would send him back right where they found him: the void. Worse yet, at the speeds he was going, his atoms were sure to be spread across the quadrant. Lore found the irony of it as amusing as it was infuriating.  
  
“Space! The final frontier!” He chuckled, high off the emotional dysregulation coursing though his circuits. Any moment now, _any moment now_ -  
 **  
“Subspace anomaly detecte-”**  
  
The computer cut off. A spacetime rift opened up in front of the shuttle– just as it blew apart in a million pieces.  
  
In exactly one-one sixtieth of a second, Lore went from imminent demise, to lying flat on a field of grass. The shuttle was gone, but he was here. Wherever _here_ was.  
  
He stared up at the night sky. Class M, judging by the atmosphere. The constellations didn’t match up with _any_ of his navigational charts. Lore had no idea where he was. Or how he had gotten there. His brother would’ve immediately set in on trying to _solve_ that mystery, sad sack that he was, but Lore didn’t much care for mysteries at this moment. He tipped his head back, wheezing in laughter. Wheezing at the shock of it all.  
  
 _He was alive. Impossibly, impossibly alive._


End file.
